iTell My Life Story
by looking4life
Summary: The kids read essays they wrote about their families and reflect on their first meetings. Answers the question: just where are the iCarly parents? a little Seddie & Creddie friendship
1. Chapter 1: Griping & Grumbling

Spencer was interrupted from washing a plate when Carly, Sam and Freddie traipsed into the apartment. Their slumped shoulders and gritted teeth told him something was up.

"What's wrong?"

"I've been judged by a nub," Sam replied as she proceeded to the kitchen and then poured herself a glass of milk and snatched up the jerky she left laying by the fridge the night before. Carly offered a more thorough answer.

"Remember that memoir about my family I had to write for English class?"

"Yeah."

"We all had the same assignment, and we got our grades today. We didn't do so well."

Spencer scrunched up his face in sympathy. "That's too bad. You'll have to tell me all about it when I get back." He grabbed his keys and headed towards he door.

"Where are you going?"

"The junkyard. I just got hired to build a model of a futuristic city for a student film project, so I'm going to find futuristic looking trash."

"Sounds like fun."

"Yeah. Check ya later."

The kids offered their "goodbyes" in broken unison as they headed upstairs to the studio. They walked inside and settled into their favorite beanbags. Freddie pulled out his math book and began doing his homework.

Sam still wasn't done talking about the disappointing grades. "How do you get a 'D' on your own life?" She grumbled as she gnawed off a chunk of her jerky.

"Your life, Sam?" prodded Freddie.

"Oh, and I suppose it's those weekly tick baths of yours that are throwing off the curve?"

Freddie shot Sam a glare. Carly broke the tension.

"Speaking of you, Freddie. You've been pretty quiet through all this. How did you do?"

"Fine. I mean a grade's a grade, right--hrmph. Sam!" Freddie was thrown off-guard by Sam's sudden assault. She was forcefully pressing his chest into the back of the beanbag and her knee was digging into his right thigh for balance as she reached over him to grab his backpack.

Freddie rubbed his pained thigh as she jumped off of him. He feebly reached for his bag in an attempt to keep it from her prying but he only succeeded in pulling the bag itself from Sam as she held onto his English folder and pulled out his paper. She jumped back to to her seat to examine her treasure. Freddie rose to snatch it back.

"Sam, give me my--"

"A B?"

Carly was surprised. "He said there were only two people with anything higher than a 'C.'" Carly was excited to be one of them, but she assumed the other was Karen Yamakao, not Freddie.

Sam was even more flabbergasted. "You're saying my tale of pain, heartbreak and the triumph of my fist over dorks everywhere is only worth a 'D' but your chilling tale of an overbearing mother is passing?"

"Well, it doesn't hurt that I can construct a sentence..."

"Hey! Kids! Play nice!" Carly turned to Freddie, taking a breath after once again acting as peacemaker. "Congratulations."

"Thanks," Freddie answered as he slumped back into his beanbag, "but I honestly don't know why I got that grade. I didn't think my paper was all that great."

"Both your parents were Bensons? Before they got married?"

Carly and Freddie turned to see Sam focused on Freddie's paper.

"You're reading it, Sam? Come on!"

"I gotta read examples of good writing if I want to improve my grade, right?

Freddie rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that's why you want to read it. It has nothing to do with all the potential insight into how to make my life miserable."

"Aw, come on Fredward."

"Why don't you read Carly's? She got a better grade than you, too, right?"

"Sure. Carly can go _first_." She emphasized her last word and set Freddie's paper down carefully next to her. "How 'bout it, Carls? Can I read it?"

"Why don't I just read it out loud?"

"Works for me. Easier than moving my own eyes back and forth."

"Alright," Carly began as she pulled her paper out of her bag. "It's called 'A Non-Traditional Family.'"


	2. Chapter 2: Carly's Story

A Non-Traditional Family

by Carly Shay

"But dad, she can't move to Yakima. She just moved. She's barely settled in. Don't make her go through that again."

"Well I can't give up my naval career. Even if I wanted to I'm not sure it would be possible. And your grandpa's certainly not going to move to Seattle. She's only eleven. She needs a guardian. There are no other options."

"Why can't I watch her? I practically raised her."

"No. You're going to law school soon. You have your own life."

I was huddled against the wall of my room, wrapped in a blanket I had quilted with my mother. I was listening through the vent to the heated discussion of my father and brother. My dad was suddenly calm. I heard him sigh and I could imagine him taking a step closer to Spencer and placing his hand on his shoulder the way he does when he's trying to be fatherly. He started talking again.

"Look, Son. I know you care about your sister, and I appreciate your willingness to look out for her. But _I_ need to look out for _both_ of you, and right now that means her moving to Yakima and you moving on with your life. You've delayed it long enough."

There was a long pause before Spencer replied. "Right."

I couldn't tell whether his mind was changed or he was admitting defeat, but two weeks later when I wished him farewell and started packing up my things for the second time in three years I realized it didn't matter.

About twelve days after Spencer left I was carrying my last couple of boxes downstairs when I found him sitting in the living room. I barely had time to ask why he was there when my dad walked through the door with some bags full of groceries. He almost dropped them when he saw Spencer.

This time, as I sat in my room, I didn't listen to the discussion. Instead I turned on some music and started reading a book. About twenty minutes later Spencer came to my room carrying one of the boxes I had just brought down. He offered to help me unpack. I would not be moving to Yakima. Apparently law school just wasn't for him, so he had decided to move back home and take care of me. That's when Spencer officially became what he always unofficially was: my primary caregiver.

When I was five and Spencer was 18 our mom was diagnosed with a terminal illness. Apparently it was a disease that was making her tired and weak all the time. Spencer was in his freshman year of college, living in a dorm, but he started spending a lot of time at home. He designed my costume for the school play when mom didn't have the energy. On Sundays he would make my lunches for the week if my mom couldn't, and he was often the one to drop me off or pick me up from school in between his classes. At the end of that year he moved back home to help take care of me. I remember when my dad came home on leave that summer. He started yelling at Spencer for being immature and refusing to grow up.

"You'll have to move out eventually, Son. You can't expect your mother to take care of you forever," I remember him saying. I watched as Spencer's face turned red with anger.

"Okay, then why don't you stay home and take care of your daughter. You make her lunches. You make sure she has clean clothes everyday. You hold her when she can't stop crying because Mom is too sick to take her to the park. If you think I'm so immature, then why don't you man up and take care of your family instead of constantly running away!"

My dad never mentioned it again, and after spending a week at home he began to realize my mom had been sugar-coating things just a little. She never did like him worrying.

When I was nine and Spencer had just graduated from college we moved out of our house in the suburbs into a loft space in Seattle. The apartment had better handicap access for my mom who now spent a lot of time in a wheelchair, and it was closer to the research hospital that was treating her.

Spencer got a job at a local museum. He had minored in fine arts during his undergraduate studies, and he always loved building things with random objects he'd find lying around, so he thought it would be fun being surrounded by art all the time. Oftentimes he would stop by the junk yard on his way home from work and after he would make dinner and do some cleaning up around the house, he would build sculptures as I worked on my homework. Sometimes I'd need help and he'd put down the random trash items and work with me until I finished my assignment. Then I'd help him finish his sculpture before I had to go to bed.

Even though she couldn't always do daily tasks and chores, my mom was always around, and she always made sure to hear about my day, talk with me about my problems and make sure I was doing okay. Some days, if she was feeling particularly well, we'd go shopping together, or she'd teach me some of her favorite mom things, like how to make a perfect cupcake or the basics of quilting. One day I asked her why she was teaching me all these things and why she always seemed to be giving me advice, even about things that didn't matter to me yet. "I might not be around forever. I just want you to be prepared" was the only answer I got.

I don't know if it was because of everything my mom had imparted to me, or because she hadn't really been the one taking care of me for the past six years, but when she died six months after my 11th birthday I was more prepared than I thought I would be. My dad was home on leave when it happened. I was at my friend's house, and I was called home to hear the news. Spencer, my dad and I sat in the living room, silently. When my dad finally got the words out of his mouth I couldn't bring myself to move or make a sound, but tears slowly started streaming down my face. My dad held his arms out for me, but I went to Spencer and let him comfort me instead.

Two days after Spencer dropped out of law school and convinced my dad not to ship me off to Grandpa's my dad went back to work. I gave him a big hug because he was my dad, and I always missed him when he was gone, but also because I was so thankful he was letting me stay with Spencer. With one sick parent and one overseas he had always been far more than a big brother to me, and it wasn't until that moment that I think my dad truly understood that. I was glad he finally did.

A friend of mine once asked if I was ever mad at my dad for never being around. Apparently I seem indifferent to my father and our family situation. That's not the truth. I love my dad, and I know he loves me even if he doesn't always show it, just as I adored my mother and know she always wanted the best for me despite not always being able to provide it. They are and were both great parents.

At least, they were both great parents to Spencer, and to me that's all that matters. Because Spencer has been a great "parent" to me.


	3. Chapter 3: Six Years

"Not bad," Sam offered as her friend finished reading.

"That's what I thought. I don't know why I got a B minus." The three sat quietly for moment.

"I can't believe it's been six years," Freddie commented, almost to himself.

"Since I moved here? I know."

"I can't believe Freddie's known you longer than I have."

"I haven't. My mom didn't let me come over here for the first few months Carly lived here. She thought it would be too hard for me with her mom's illness and everything."

"Ha! What? You think you'd catch it or something?" Sam mocked.

Freddie jumped to his own defense. "My _mom_ didn't think I could handle being around someone who was sick and facing their own mortality. _I_ never had a problem with it."

Carly thought back to a few years ago. "It never did seem to phase you, did it?" And then a memory struck her. "Well, I think everybody got a little weird at the funeral," she added understandingly.

"Yeah," Freddie said glumly.

Sam had always thought that she knew everything there was to know about Freddie and Carly's friendship. After all, until _iCarly_ started Freddie wasn't really even Carly's friend. He was just the nerd across the hall. But now, based on the way the two were looking all melancholically nostalgic, Sam realized there may be more to their story than she was aware.


	4. Chapter 4: Carly & Freddie

"Thank you so much, Mrs. Benson. It shouldn't be longer than a few hours."

"Oh, don't worry at all about it. I'm just glad I can help."

"Well, it means a lot." Spencer turned to his little sister. "Alright, Carly. You gonna be okay here?"

"Yeah. I'll be fine."

"Okay. See you in a few hours." Spencer patted Carly's head, nodded at Mrs. Benson and headed out. Mrs. Benson ushered the eight year-old in and shut the door.

"Alright, Carly. Come with me. You can sit at the kitchen table and finish your homework while I make you a snack."

Carly followed Mrs. Benson into the kitchen and saw a boy, her age, sitting at the table with an open book and a worksheet in front of him. He looked familiar. She realized quickly that he was the boy she always saw sitting alone at lunch and being teased at recess, but she had never met him before. Mrs. Benson did the honors.

"Carly, this is my son Freddie. He's just finishing up his homework. Freddie, this is Carly Shay. She's the girl I told you about that lives across the hall."

"Hi," Freddie said brightly.

"Hi," Carly responded politely. "It's nice to meet you."

There was an awkward pause as Freddie continued to smile at her. Carly, however, couldn't think of anything else to say, so she smiled back at him and then joined him at the square table. He continued to watch her. Carly began to feel a little uncomfortable, so she decided to try out some small talk.

"I've seen you at school, right? Aren't you in Ms. Piper's class?"

"Yeah," Freddie nodded.

Carly pulled her homework out of her bag and began working on it. Eventually Freddie refocused on his worksheet.

Later that afternoon, after finishing their homework, the two decided to play some cards. Freddie spent the first twenty or so minutes just rambling on about various things that Carly found incredibly dull, but then he got quiet for a moment. When he spoke again he was oddly serious.

"Carly?" he eked out nervously. She glanced up from her cards. "When did your mom get sick?"

Carly looked back down at her cards and shrugged. "We found out when I was five, but she was probably sick before that, too."

"Oh." Freddie played a card. "Is she going to die?"

"I don't know," Carly responded honestly. "Spencer always tells me not to worry about it, but she's in bed all the time." There was a pause, and then she said in a softer voice, "I think she's getting worse." She had never admitted that to anyone. She rarely talked about her mom. No one really asked, and although she'd made a couple friends at school they rarely had such serious discussions. Carly was a little surprised she felt comfortable talking to this annoying kid across the hall, but, well, he asked. Carly could feel Freddie's eyes on her. She played her next card and then wiped a tear from her cheek.

"My dad died," Freddie offered, in an attempt to cheer Carly up.

Carly looked at him, surprised and curious. "When?"

"Before I was born. I never met him, but I'm named after him. He was Freddie, too."

"Do you miss your dad?"

"I don't know. I never knew him." Freddie played his next card. "I just hope my mom doesn't die."

"Is she sick?"

"No, but the world is a dangerous place." He paused before continuing. "And she has panic attacks sometimes. She's had to go to the hospital twice."

Freddie had said very little and what he did say was very matter-of-fact, but Carly was overcome with sympathy for this kid. Her life might be a little depressing, but if (and when) her mom dies at least she'll have had a chance to know her and, therefore, be able to miss her. And she'll still have a dad and Spencer. This poor Freddie had nothing but a crazy mom whose craziness sometimes got the best of her. Plus, she knew a lot of kids at school were mean to him whenever they got the chance. He certainly didn't have the easiest life. She decided then that she would try her best to be nice to him.

It didn't take long for Carly to realize how hard it would be for her to keep her personal promise. Once Mrs. Benson realized her little Freddie wasn't emotionally scarred by having a friend whose mother was deathly ill she made sure to help out in any way possible. She started dropping off and picking up Carly from school, buying groceries and occasionally cleaning up the Shay's apartment.

Carly continued to see Freddie every once in a while as part of this arrangement, and every time the two were together he spent a lot of time admiring Carly, and she spent a lot of time politely putting up with him.

It was the day before winter break that Freddie first professed his love for her. He had finished his homework and Carly could tell he had moved on to studying her.

"Wow, Freddie. How did you finish your homework so fast?"

"It was just math. I'm really good at long division."

"Oh." Carly responded, trying to stay nonchalant.

"Hey, Carly. Will you go out with me?"

The minute she heard the words Carly knew she would be unable to hold back a wince. "That's really sweet, Freddie, but I'm just your friend."

"Oh. Okay. That's cool."

Carly could practically see his heart breaking and tried quickly to undo some of the damage. "But, you could help me with my long division."

"Sure! I'd love to!"

The next two and a half years Carly found it was a lot easier to spend time with Freddie. It was awkward at first to hang out with someone that she had rejected, but after a while she realized it was nice to have it out in the open. She knew Freddie liked her. He knew she wasn't interested. There were no games. It just meant Carly had to put up with an admirer. So that's exactly what she did. She saw Freddie whenever Mrs. Benson watched her, and one year she was in the same class as him. Despite the occasional encounters, however, their relationship remained very superficial.

And then Carly's mom died.

The wake was held at the Shay's apartment. Carly didn't know how the daughter of the deceased was supposed to act or what she was supposed to do, so she just sat in a chair off to the side with her best friend Sam, talking as little as possible. People would come up to her and offer their condolences. She would say "thank you" and wonder how long it would be until they would leave her alone again. The Bensons showed up about a half hour in. Freddie came and sat with her and Sam for a little while as his mom rearranged the guest book table and fluffed every cushion she could find. After twenty minutes Mrs. Benson found Freddie and told him it was time to pay their respects.

When the wake ended only one guest remained. Mrs. Benson was busy picking things up, vacuuming and making sure all the furniture was placed perfectly. She insisted on staying until everything was back to normal. Carly couldn't stand being in the living room with her anymore, so she went upstairs. She had intended to go to her room, but she found herself tackling a second flight of stairs and going up to the third floor instead. The large open room on its own floor was one of the reasons her parents had chosen this apartment as it made a perfect master bedroom for the disabled Mrs. Shay. The large, open area meant there was plenty of room for her to move freely in her wheelchair, and the direct elevator access made it even more convenient.

Carly had no idea what drew her to the third floor at this particular moment. She never liked going up there. It was where illness lived--where death lay in wait. It was so grim to her; a place for her mom to slowly waste away. For whatever reason, Carly found herself standing in that loathsome place. She stood for a moment just staring over the area, her mind blank. Soon, though, she caught a glimpse of the quilt she had made with her mom a few months before. It lay on the chair next to the bed on the opposite side of the room, likely used by her mother the last time she was able to sit up in the chair and read a book. Carly walked over and picked up the blanket and immediately tears started welling in the corners of her eyes. A sudden feeling of claustrophobia struck her, and she ran for the closest exit which led out into a brick stairwell. She was just about to turn to the stairs and run down to her room when she noticed Freddie sitting against the wall, staring forward with a blank expression and tears moistening his cheeks.

"Freddie?"

He looked up slowly, grief etched clearly on his face. Then he looked back down and sniffled.

"What's wrong?"

Freddie's voice wavered and tears continued flowing down his face as he answered. "Why did he have to die?"

At his comment Carly's resolve weakened, and she lost the ability to hold back her own tears. They started flowing freely as she dropped to the floor and scooted against the wall until she was sitting next to Freddie. She looked at him a moment, but his expression hadn't changed. She thought for a moment about how she should react to this situation. She was always careful not to do things that might lead him on. She didn't want to give him false hope. She quickly determined, however, that this was one of those situations that required a different response than usual. She scooted closer to Freddie, grabbed his left hand in her right, and laid her head on his shoulder.

For the next twenty minutes, they sat together like that, each silently grieving their own loss--losses that few of their peers could even imagine but which had already shaped each of their lives in significant ways. It was much later when Carly first considered how many times Freddie might have mourned his father's absence. It was later still that it occurred to her that the day in the stairwell may have been the first time he wasn't alone with his pain. The thought would warm her in the same way Freddie's presence warmed her that night as the two cried outside her mother's bedroom.

When Freddie's mother finally started yelling for him to leave the two got up and started walking down the stairs to the kitchen. Carly was halfway down the staircase when she heard Freddie's voice behind her.

"You dropped this."

Carly turned and saw her mother's quilt draped over Freddie's outstretched arm.

"Thank you," she said as she took it from him.

"You're welcome."

Carly smiled meekly and the two made their way down the stairs, into the apartment, and back to their normal lives.


	5. Chapter 5: Moving On

Sam had decided not to question about the unexplained awkwardness between her friends and tried her best to move along the action. "Okay, now that I've heard Carly's story, can I read yours?" she asked.

"Whatever." Freddie relented. "You gonna make Carly read it?"

"No, I think I'll do the honors."

"But you're going to read it out loud, right?" Carly asked.

"What? Why?" Freddie demanded.

"My grade needs improving, too!"

Freddie shook his head dismissively and refocused his attention on his math homework as Sam began reading his family story aloud.


	6. Chapter 6: Freddie's Story

Momma's Boy?

by Freddie Benson

On September 4th, 1985 my mother, born Marissa Louise Benson, met my father, Frederick Edward Benson, at a freshman biology course in college. They struck up a conversation before class and when their names were called one after the other by their professor they decided it was fate. They were married on June 24, 1989. Five years later on February 4th, 1994 I showed up. The hitch in the story is that in September of '93, six weeks after my parents learned of my existence, my dad died. He was always a bit of an adventurer; a fact my mother says she begrudgingly accepted but which also drove her crazy with worry. He would often come home with scratches, bruises, broken bones. My friends now joke about the giant first aid kit my mom has. She got it when she started dating my dad. I like to think that, despite what she tells me, his thrill-seeking nature is one of the things she liked best about him--until it was the thing that took him away from her.

One day, on a rock climbing expedition with his friends, my dad's harness broke and he crashed onto the rocks below. My mom had always been a little anxious and high-strung, but I have a feeling it all kicked up a notch after that. I was born two months early. The doctors say it was stress. I don't think her blood pressure has lowered since.

In an attempt to keep me from my father's fate (I assume), my mom went a little crazy while raising me. I have been forced to undergo weekly body inspections, quarterly physicals and any number of tick-prevention exercises. I've also been involved in mother-son synchronized swimming, tennis and cricket, and I've routinely helped her assemble puzzles and knit or cross-stitch various items. None of these activities have positively affected my social situation. For most of my life I've been the awkward kid with the bran cookies and tofu salad sandwiches; the kid whose mom came on every field trip just to keep an eye on her little boy; the kid who, well, spent more time being a loser than being normal and seemed to like it that way. To most of my peers I have always been simply Fred-dork the AV Club geek.

If only they knew! That's what I used grumble to myself if anyone said or did anything particularly insulting. It was the emptiest threat imaginable. If only they knew what? That in many ways I am exactly what people think. I'm more comfortable with cameras and sound equipment than I am with most people. I'm a dork, and I'm a little proud of the fact my mom and I took third place in the biannual regional Puzzle Masters Jigsaw Puzzling Competition.

Of what my peers don't already know I would never tell them. Like the fact that I'm pretty sure my mom has at least two psychological disorders for which she should be treated, but she refuses to see a therapist. And the fact that I do what I can to make her life easier because I want her to be happy, because, despite her insane quirks I really do love her. And the fact that only recently have I stopped asking myself every day how my life would have been different if only my dad was still around.

Lots of kids know things about my mom, and often say it explains a lot, but no one knows much about my dad. Only a few friends know anything about what really happened to him. I told a few classmates in my early elementary days. None of them believed me. Instead they developed their own crazy rumors. One kid once suggested that my mom actually killed my dad for some reason and the whole "falling off a cliff" thing is just a cover. I denied it vehemently.

"Yeah, but what evidence have you actually seen that your dad died rock climbing?" he countered.

"None, I guess."

"That's because there isn't any."

It became the most pervasive rumor, and it bugged me until it started making sense. Not that I actually think my mom killed my dad, but the older I get the more I realize she's not incapable of it.

I guess that says a lot about me that it wouldn't completely surprise me if my mother was homicidal. The thing one might assume it says about me--that I'm afraid of her--would be the one thing that's not true. Yes, I put up with her craziness. I even encourage it on occasion, but it stems from the fact that I know certain things are important to her. The thing is, I've never been a huge fan of my mother's over-bearing tendencies. If I had it my way I'd always wear what I want, travel, use a knife to cut my meat and every once in a while forgo the use of a napkin or leave my bed unmade into the afternoon. But I realized early on that my mom needs to worry about me. I could resist her invitations to go antiquing or to sing a duet in church. In fact, I did refuse to participate in a number of activities when I was younger, but doing so just made her crazier.

One particular instance happened when I was seven. I refused to watch a Jane Austen movie marathon with her. When she came in my room to check on me between movies she found me snacking on some snack cakes (and not the low-fat kind). She reprimanded me on my bad eating habits and told me to throw them out. Instead I took the biggest bite I could fit in my mouth. She refused to speak to me the rest of the night. The next day she had a panic attack so bad she had to go to the hospital. That Saturday I happily accepted her home-made soy breakfast without complaint and then helped her pick out new clothes at Better Sweater.

I mentioned earlier that I used to wonder a lot about how my life would have been different if my dad was still around. Would I still be the dorky guy everyone sees me as? Would I still be so completely socially awkward? It was a question I would ask to make myself feel better about my life. Assuming my life would have been drastically different if only my dad hadn't died made me feel like all my social failures were not my fault. They were my dad's. It made everything a little more bearable.

I hadn't asked myself any of those questions in almost a year when Sam mentioned on _iCarly_ that I had never kissed anyone. I became a laughing stock and ended up spending the next week sequestered away at home. The thing is, it wasn't just the taunting that got to me. I've put up with much worse. Just a couple months before Sam had pantsed me in the hall, and I laughed it off. The kiss thing got to me because never kissing anyone was just another social failure that stemmed from growing up fatherless.

I know that's not entirely true. There are plenty of other people in the 9th grade that have never kissed anyone, and I knew that I shouldn't have cared, but every time a kid pointed and laughed, every time I read a negative comment on my blog it was like I was that little dorky loser, once again being teased because of the bad cards he'd been dealt by life. I had thought I was past that kind of defeatist thinking, and it ticked me off that it all came rushing back to me so easily.

In time, Sam and I made amends about what happened, and we moved on. Hopefully it will be a couple more years before my cynicism rears its head again. It gets exhausting, and putting up with my mom is tiring enough.

That's the thing about family, though. It's not easy. No one ever said it was. It is what it is, and you just have to do your best to appreciate what you have, because you never know when you might lose it, and in my experience, losing is heck of a lot harder than having.


	7. Chapter 7: Food & Money

Carly was the first to speak. "That was, uh..."

"Enlightening," Sam finished for her.

"Yeah. There wasn't much I didn't kinda know, but somehow it seemed totally new coming from Freddie himself."

"Yeah." Sam agreed.

Freddie was the one to break the silence that followed. "So..." he began, while still focusing on his geometry proofs. "When do I get to read yours, Puckett?"

Sam looked up, her thoughtful concentration finally disrupted. "Ha!"

"Aw, come on! You read mine. It's only fair I get to read yours."

"Are you new to the world? Life's not fair!"

"Oh Sam. Just let him read it."

"Fine." Sam grabbed it out of her bag and handed it to Freddie. "But while you scrutinize my handiwork I'm gonna go get me a burrito. Can I borrow 5 bucks?" The request was directed at either of the friends. Both ignored it.

Freddie scanned over the paper before him. "Will this essay provide any insight into how you got to be the way you are?"

"Probably not. Can I have 5 bucks?"

This time the question was directed at just Freddie, and he simply rolled his eyes as he reached for his wallet and pulled out a bill. He watched her leave before turning to her paper and beginning to read.

"I don't get to hear it?" Carly complained after a moment.

"She's your best friend. What don't you know about her?"

"Just read to me, Freddie."

And so he did.


	8. Chapter 8: Sam's Story

The Sam Puckett Story

by Sam Puckett

I was born on a bus. Seriously. I was. My mom always said that she's bad at planning. It's true. I played the big bad wolf in a play in fourth grade. I told her I needed a costume a month before the play. The night before she took me to a costume shop, and the closest thing we could find was an adult werewolf costume. It would have been really scary if only I didn't keep tripping over the over-sized pants. It kind of made up for it that I knocked over the brick house accidentally at the dress rehearsal. One of the pigs got smashed, and his mom took him out of the play insisting acting is too risky of a profession.

It was both my parents' inability to plan that led to me. They met at a music festival near Seattle. He had driven in from a small town south east of Portland, they hit it off, and, well, three weeks later my mom discovered that even though she didn't buy any over-priced T-shirts from the concert, she still managed to take home a souvenir. She never told him about me. In fact, she didn't really tell anyone about me. She dropped out of school and started working more at the grocery store. When I came she was actually rushing home from work. There was a story about it on the news. She got to ride the bus for free for the next year.

My mom's a good mom. Well, she's passable, anyway. For one, she rarely cooks. I think she knows how to make about four different things and three of them come from a box. Thank God for all the restaurant options in Seattle. There may not be much in our fridge, but the front of it's coated with take-out menus.

My mom worked a lot when I was growing up, so I spent a lot of time with my cousins. I have like a gazillion, and I'm really close with most of my extended family. I spent a lot of time at my cousin Annie's tattoo parlor, and I used to watch wrestling with my cousin Buzz. Of course it was Jimmy that taught me most of my moves, and the two of them taught me how to pick a lock. Yes, most of my most useful skills come from Jimmy and Buzz.

I know we're supposed to be including our feelings in these little memoirs, but, well, I don't _feel_ like it. Do I like having a crazy family? I don't not like it. I mean every family's crazy in some way, right? Plus, I get a lot of freedom this way. I know my mom kind of seems like deadbeat, but she's not. She just has her own life to live, so she doesn't worry much about how I live mine. But she does the important stuff. I have clothes to wear, and she gives me rides half the time I ask for them.

Sometimes I wonder what happened to my dad. I looked him up on Zaplook the other day for the sake of this paper. I got nothing. I think my mom gave me a fake name.

Here's the way I see it. My family is what it is. I can't change it. I could sit around whining about all the ways my mom isn't June Cleaver and get all depressed because I never knew my dad, but that would be lame. It wouldn't change anything. So instead I'm gonna go find me some ham to eat and a dork to beat up. Much more worthwhile activities if you ask me.


	9. Chapter 9: That's It?

"Wow, she really dipped into her emotional reserves for that one, didn't she?" Freddie critiqued.

"It's an English paper, Freddie. I'm surprised she turned it in on time. And wrote more than half a page."

Freddie laughed. "Yeah, I guess I was just hoping for a little more insight into when exactly she became the aggressive fireball we know so well."

"What do you mean became? I always assumed she was born that way."

"No, she always had spunk, but I remember her being a little... tamer."

"What do you mean 'remember?' You only met her at the end of third grade, right? You knew her before that?"

"I wouldn't say I _knew_ her. I mean, we've always gone to the same school. I knew _of_ her." He paused for a moment. "Our paths may have crossed on occasion."


	10. Chapter 10: Freddie & Sam

Freddie first noticed her when he started first grade. She was a second grader, but they shared the same lunch. She was sitting alone at a table chewing on a piece of cold fried chicken. An open can of Peppy Cola sat next to the plastic bag that served as her lunchbox. Freddie was intrigued by her. He rarely saw kids eating alone (other than himself), so he was immediately drawn to her, and he was a little concerned at her unhealthy meal.

Freddie started watching her at lunch. She never had a balanced meal, and it usually seemed to be cobbled together from leftovers or a strange assortment of foods that just happened to be lying around. She also never spoke to anyone else. Then again, the other kids never seemed to even notice her. It was like she existed in an alternate reality that was unseen by the human eye. They would walk past her, never looking in her direction. Kids at least acknowledged Freddie--it was usually to call him names or to try to get him in trouble, but at least he existed to them. He couldn't say the same about this poor girl. He decided he should try to be her friend.

He started by approaching her, but when he said "hi" to her one day she just looked at him briefly and then proceeded to ignore him. When he asked if he could sit with her she got up and moved to a different table. He didn't take it too personally, though. He had a feeling she would act like that with everyone, seeing as how no one ever really got close to her. Nevertheless, he decided to give up on Operation Befriend-the-Lonely-Unhealthy-Food-Girl.

A couple days later, though, he realized he may have an opportunity to offer his friendship. He saw Mrs. Reynolds talking to the girl about the food she was bringing to school. She was threatening to call home if there was no change in the second grader's lunches. Freddie noticed the girl was looking a little scared. He didn't know what her home life was like, but by the look on her face it would be hard for her to find more wholesome lunches, and it seemed as if she'd rather avoid the situation altogether. The next day, to help her out, he gave her some of the food from his lunch. He just left it at her usual table. As she was eating a few minutes later Freddie noticed Mrs. Reynolds eyeing her with a look of satisfaction.

It made him happy that he had found a way to be a friend to this girl, so he started bringing extra food to school whenever he could; two apples, an extra sandwich. It took a while to convince his mom he needed more food for lunch, until she caught on to her son's real reasons.

One day after school as she was picking up Freddie she had to honk to get his attention. He was staring after a girl with long blonde hair that was climbing into the front seat of a dirty pick-up truck that looked older than it should, driven by a woman who looked far too young to have a child. When Freddie heard the honk he watched the old pick-up drive off as he climbed into the safe backseat of his mom's car.

"Hello Fredward. How was school today?"

"Fine," five-year-old Freddie responded. Followed by a heavy silence as he stared out the window.

"Who was that girl you were watching?"

"Nobody," Freddie answered, "Just a girl I see at lunch. I don't think her mom takes very good care of her."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, she lets her have potato chips for lunch everyday. And she never gives her any fruits or vegetables."

The next day Mrs. Benson packed two lunches in Freddie's _Galaxy Wars_ lunchbox, along with a note: "Giving is living. I love you Fredward, Mom." For much of first grade at least a couple times a week Freddie would bring extra food for Sam. He would either slip it to her at lunch or he'd sneak it into her locker (which was conveniently right across the hall from his own and which was clearly labeled with her name "Samantha." Although he was quick to notice the "antha" was crossed out with a simple line-through). Occasionally he'd find a couple of cookies or a bag of chips in his locker in exchange for his offerings. He and Sam never spoke, but they seemed to have a weird kind of friendship. As odd as it was, it was one of the healthiest relationships Freddie had ever had.

The food sharing continued when Freddie entered second grade and Sam entered third. Freddie also noticed that Sam began acting as a kind of bodyguard. Occasionally when kids would start picking on him, Sam would do something to distract the perps. One particularly memorable occasion was during recess. While playing kickball two kids were goading Freddie about his latest clothing choice. He tried to ignore them as he focused on his job as second baseman. They didn't let up. He tried to defend himself. It made it worse. Suddenly one of them got hit square in the head with a kickball and fell, pained, to the ground. Freddie and the other meanie turned to see where the ball had come from only to see Sam running to first base.

"Are you okay?" The nearest teacher ran directly to the fallen student and sent him with the other meanie to the nurse's office. He then turned back to Sam, now standing on first base.

"Sorry." She offered. "I didn't mean to."

Freddie just thanked his lucky stars her miskick landed so serendipitously. Then he remembered, despite Sam being kind of a loner and other students often avoiding her, she was always picked first whenever anyone played kickball. Not only could she kick hard, but she had great aim. Wherever the ball landed, she meant for it to land there. Apparently Sam had wanted that particular ball to land near Jimmy Hawkins' right eye. The thought made Freddie smile. Even if no one would admit to being his friend, at least he had someone tough looking out for him.

That year for Valentine's Day Freddie's class had a sub for the full week after Ms. Nelson, their regular teacher, was at a teaching conference. Miss Cindy was new to teaching and wasn't aware of the age-old elementary school Valentine's Day rule which states that if anyone wants to hand out Valentines, they have to give them to everyone. The kids enjoyed this oversight on the part of their substitute and gave out cards only to those they deemed worthy. That meant Freddie got nothing. Not only did his classmates keep all their cards from him, they also tormented him for the Valentine cards he still, bravely, placed in everyone else's bags. They were home-made and included sugar-free lollipops and filled up the garbage can as quickly as Freddie had passed them out.

The exchanging of Valentines happened in the morning, so it wasn't hard for Sam to notice what had happened to her personal little caterer when, at lunch, she saw all the other first graders sitting around with Valentines and red and pink candy and Freddie sitting alone at a table with nothing but a sugar-free lollipop shaped like a heart. Sam hadn't brought any Valentines, but when she noticed Freddie hadn't gotten any she felt bad for the kid, and she set out to cheer him up. When she went back to class she found a piece of green construction paper and cut out a heart. She drew some pictures of food items around the edge, and then she started writing a message. She had only gotten "Freddie" down when some kids started looking over her shoulder.

"You're making a card for that little loser first-grader?"

"No, it's not serious," she defended.

The kids continued to watch her, laughing. She didn't intend to write anything too crazy. Just something like "Happy Valentine's Day" or "Thanks for the food." Something that wasn't mushy or even emotional, but so the poor kid would have something to take home--so he didn't think he was a complete failure at life. But now, with so many people watching her, Sam knew she would have to make it mean or make it nothing at all. She jotted down the first rude thing that popped into her head, "I hate you." She then signed her name. The kids around her started laughing, but now with her instead of at her.

When recess came the kids gathered to follow Sam out to the playground.

"We want to see you give him the card."

"Yeah. I bet he'll cry."

Sam didn't know what to do. She stuffed the Valentine into her pocket and walked out to recess. Immediately upon getting outside, one of Sam's instigators spotted little Freddie sitting alone on the swing, drawing lines in the sand with his feet.

"Freddie!" another third grader yelled.

Freddie looked up to find the source of the voice. "Yeah?" He cautiously yelled in return.

"Sam got you a Valentine."

One of the kids pointed at Sam and pushed her towards the swing where Freddie sat. She slowly approached him as Freddie rose from the swing and stepped toward the girl he had come to think of as his unspoken friend. Sam looked him in the face briefly and then quickly, like pulling off a band-aid, handed him the un-Valentine and then braced herself as he excitedly opened it. As soon as Freddie read the message, his face immediately dropped and his eyes started to water. He was confused. Why would Sam go to so much trouble just to be mean to someone who had been so nice to her? And he thought she considered herself a friend of his! He looked up at her to make sense of it. She was looking at her feet and at the bottom of the swing set, and she looked a little like she wanted to vomit. Freddie, hurt and embarrassed by the pointing and laughing of the bigger third graders, and flabbergasted by what Sam had just handed him, ran to the other side of the playground to lean against the school building in his favorite corner, where he was protected by two sides from the prying eyes and hurtful words of others. Freddie opened the card and looked at it again. The message didn't change. When he looked up, he saw Sam watching him from the corner of the kickball field. He only saw her for a moment before she ran back to the jungle gym, but he swore she looked sad.

The next day, Freddie didn't bring any food for Sam. But he did find two packages of his favorite mini cookies sitting in his locker with a post-it note that said, simply, "sorry. I didn't mean it that way." When he found the gift, he glanced at Sam who was grabbing her coat from her locker across the hall. She smiled apologetically, and he hesitantly smiled back. He slipped the cookies into his backpack and headed home.

That night as he ate his cookies Freddie considered what that note could have meant. How else can you mean "I hate you?" As far as Freddie knew, there was only one translation. But as he thought back to the snacks she'd given him and the times she'd stood up for him (although not publicly), he believed her that she wasn't trying to be mean. He still didn't completely understand the note, but he figured if she didn't mean it that way, he wouldn't either.

The next day Freddie brought a full meal for Sam which he put in her locker the moment he got to school. When it came time for lunch Sam excitedly sat down with hers. She was happy to discover her favorite sandwich (tuna, at the time), and a banana (her favorite self-packaged fruit). She took one bite of the sandwich before she noticed a note written on the side of the bag in Freddie's uneven scrawl, "I hate you, too." Freddie saw her smile before she returned her attention to the sandwich.


	11. Chapter 11: Plotting & Pondering

It wasn't long after Freddie finished reading Sam's story that Miss Puckett returned with a ham sandwich and a couple of fat cakes.

"So, what'd you guys think?"

"About what I expected," Freddie acknowledged.

"You know, I was thinking about it, and did you guys notice that all our families are weird?" Sam said as she plopped back down in her beanbag.

Carly thought about that for a minute. "That is interesting. How many kids do we know that only have one parent, and all of us do."

"And the one parent we each do have isn't about to win any Parent of the Year awards," Sam observed.

Freddie finally finished his homework and set his things in a pile next to him. "Maybe that's why we're such good friends." Sam eyed Freddie questioningly. Freddie continued. "Come on, Sam. You talk all big, but you know you'd miss me if I wasn't here. I mean, you see me more than you see your own mother."

"You do kind of live here," Carly interjected.

"There's free food here," Sam defended.

"You spend a lot of time here, too," Carly remarked to Freddie.

"Can't stand to be away from the girl of his dreams for too long." Sam ribbed before thinking for a second. "Wait. You don't spend more time here than me, do you?"

"No. I'm not a total freeloader."

"You did spend seven hours here on Saturday watching that _Galaxy Wars_ marathon with Spencer."

"Your brother's probably the closest thing to a dad the dork's ever had." Sam observed.

Freddie shrugged passively, not disagreeing. Carly looked at Sam in delighted curiosity.

"What?" Sam questioned, her mouth full of ham sandwich.

"That was unusually insightful of you."

"I have my moments."

Carly continued thinking about these new observations. "It is kind of interesting the way we've formed our own little family."

"Maybe we should have written about us instead of our biological families. Might have gotten better grades," Freddie joked. He and Sam chuckled.

"That's a great idea!" Carly exclaimed. You could practically see the lightbulb go on over her head.

"What is?"

"We should write a new paper about our own little family."

"Why?" Sam asked.

"We can turn it in for extra credit. Mr. Cooper said at the beginning of class we could turn in more work to bump up our grade."

"Yeah. Half a grade at most," Freddie reminded.

"That could keep Sam from failing," Carly pointed out. Sam nodded. "And I could raise my grade enough to keep up my trend of never getting anything below a B."

"Okay, but what are we going to write about?" Freddie asked pessimistically.

Carly immediately rejected his negativity. "We could start with the first time we were all together."

"Your 11th birthday? When your mom made you invite Freddie?" Sam asked, both annoyed and amused at the memory.

Freddie rolled his eyes, clearly not fond of being reminded of his earlier social failures. Carly glared disapprovingly at Sam. "No, that 3rd grade field trip to the zoo."

Sam started to look sick. When Carly glanced over at Freddie she noticed he looked even worse. "What's wrong with you two?" Her eyes oscillated back between the two of them.

"Don't you remember how that day ended?" Freddie asked.

"Yeah, and it's a perfect illustration of our relationship. You were uptight. Sam was aggressive and broke rules, and I tried to keep the peace and failed."

Sam and Freddie eyed each other nervously. "I don't think it's the best story to use," said Freddie. "Why don't we find a different angle?"

"Yeah. That's a good idea." Sam said being oddly agreeable.

Carly, as she had become accustomed, rolled her eyes at the behavior of her two best friends. "Okay then... let's think of another idea."

Sam let out a silent sigh.


	12. Chapter 12: Two Girls, a Guy & a Zoo

Sam Puckett wasn't too thrilled about repeating the third grade, but it wasn't really her choice. Plus, it had its perks. For one, she learned how much fun it was to beat kids up. It was better than letting everyone call her stupid, and she found she was quite good at it. For another, she met her best friend Carly, which meant she had someone to hang out with. Plus, Carly always had plenty of food at lunch, making Sam no longer dependent on that little Freddie. In fact, she stopped thinking about the boy altogether. Until the last day of school, that is.

On the last day, as was tradition, all three third grade classrooms went on a joint field trip to the zoo. At the beginning of the day everyone broke into groups, five kids per chaperone. Carly and Sam were assigned to the group led by Mrs. Benson which meant they would be spending the day with Freddie. The other two kids they were with, Kyle Broder and Sarah Larson, were relatively quiet. They were also cousins and got along really well. Which meant they pretty much kept to themselves for the extent of the trip.

Throughout the day Sam was her usual self; pestering the animals, throwing her food at other classmates during lunch. Carly took it all in stride, but Sam could tell Freddie was finding her behavior unexpected and unwanted. Mrs. Benson was very concerned about much of Sam's conduct and spent most of her time reprimanding the trouble-maker for various things. On a couple of occasions Mrs. Benson made comments about "what has your mother been teaching you?" or "What would your mother have to say about that?" None of the comments made Sam very happy. Who was this crazy woman to tell her what was and was not acceptable, and why did she have to bring up her mother? In the end Sam decided the best way to deal with it would be to ignore it. So that's what she did.

Later, while standing outside the gorilla pen, Sam was eating her banana from lunch while Mrs. Benson was standing in the shade a couple of meters away making sure Sarah and Kyle were properly hydrated and sunscreened (they were starting to look a little red). Sam had only taken a couple of bites of her banana when she wondered if the gorilla would like a taste.

"Hey King Kong, you hungry?" She yelled at one of the quiet beasts.

"What are you going to do Sam?" Freddie asked nervously.

"Gorillas like bananas, right?"

"Don't Sam." Carly quietly urged.

"Yeah, you can't Sam. Don't you see the sign? It says not to throw anything into the habitat, especially food."

"You worry too much, Freddo." Sam quickly tossed the banana into the gorilla's pen. Immediately a zookeeper approached the three kids.

"Which one of you threw the banana?"

"Her. It was her!" Freddie yelled excitedly, repeatedly pointing at Sam.

Twenty minutes later, after getting a stern lecture from Mrs. Benson, the three kids found themselves standing right inside the entrance to the park while inside the zoo offices Mrs. Benson and one of the classroom teachers were discussing what to do about the situation. Kyle and Sarah had been handed off to another, less troublesome, group.

Carly was leaning against the exterior wall of the park offices. Sam was a few feet away trying to step on a pigeon. Her cousin told her if you sneak up on them diagonally they can't see you coming. She was testing it out. Freddie, angry his field trip was cut short, marched up to Sam and demanded answers.

"Why did you do it Sam? How _did_ your mother raise you?"

It was one thing for Mrs. Benson to attack her mother, but when Freddie did it, it really struck a nerve. "Don't even mention my mother. There's nothing wrong with my mom."

Freddie was quickly biting off more than he could chew. "Yeah, then why can't she pack a lunch?"

It was mean. Freddie knew that, but what he didn't know was to what extent Sam had hardened up during her second time in third grade, and he had no idea what kind of a response his badgering would produce. He quickly found out.

Sam punched Freddie square in the face and laid him out flat. Carly heard the thud and immediately ran over.

"Sam! What's wrong with you?"

"Aw, come on. The dork's been begging for it all day. You've seen his mom."

Right then both girls saw his mom again as she came rushing to her son's side.

Sam spent the first three weeks of her summer in summer school in-school-suspension. Freddie spent his in bed.


	13. Chapter 13: Griping & Grumbling Again

It had been one week since the kids decided to write an extra credit assignment about their "family" when they, once again, walked dejectedly into the apartment. Spencer looked up from his half-finished futuristic city-scape to see them enter. "Gloomy again? Weren't you guys going to turn in your extra credit thing today?"

"We did," Carly answered.

"And?"

Carly handed the paper to Spencer and then flopped down on the couch. Sam and Freddie quickly followed.

"An 'F'? How do you fail at extra credit? It's extra."

"You tell us," invited Freddie.

"Aw, I'm sorry guys. Can I read it?"

"If you promise not to fail us," Sam said as she propped her feet up on the coffee table.

"I promise." Spencer said as he looked to Carly for permission.

"Then be our guest."


	14. Chapter 14: The Trio's Story

iFamily

by Carly Shay, Sam Puckett, and Freddie Benson

The other day we decided to read our essays about our families to each other. After reading we made a realization. While each of us have the families we were grown into, almost more important is the family that each of us have stumbled into: the family we created when we started doing _iCarly_. Why do we say we're a family? Well, let's look at the definition.

_**1:**__ a group of individuals living under one roof and usually under one head_

Freddie and Carly officially live under the same room as they live in the same apartment building. Sam might as well, too. She spends more time at Carly's than her own house and most delivery places have the Shay address listed under Sam's name.

As for the head of the household, that would be Spencer, Carly's older brother. He rarely operates as an authority figure, but he's the go-to adult if we encounter a problem or need adult assistance.

_**2 a:**__ a group of persons of common ancestry _

_**b:**__ a people or group of peoples regarded as deriving from a common stock_

All three of us are derived from European ancestry. This is, admittedly, our weakest argument.

_**3:**__ a group of people united by certain convictions or a common affiliation _

Our common affiliation is _iCarly. _It started as an accident. Freddie was supposed to upload the video on SplashFace but instead he uploaded the out-takes--out-takes Sam and Carly didn't even know existed. Turns out the video was popular, though, so we decided to turn it into a web show. It was a decision based on anger at a teacher, and because Freddie had a lot of tech equipment that he wanted an excuse to play with, but it's what brought us together, and what keeps us together even when we don't always get along.

_**4:**__ a group of things related by common characteristics_

We all have strange families. Carly's mom died and her dad is overseas in the military. Sam never knew her dad, and it's a miracle her mom's never been arrested. Freddie's dad died and his mom is overbearing and worrisome. Our little family formed because of _iCarly_, but it's the commonalities in our home lives that have made us as close as we are.

If Sam's mom was more involved, she probably wouldn't be around as much outside of taping the show. If Freddie didn't grow up an outcast and a loser he wouldn't have been available and ready with all the necessary equipment to do the show, and if Carly's mom had never been sick Carly would still be living somewhere in the suburbs and Freddie and Sam wouldn't have anything to do or anywhere to go.

To put it more dramatically, we're all damaged in some way. It's not easy growing up with a strange family and being the odd one out. It's a lot easier when you're not alone. For the last two years we've had the support of each other. Three kids with troubled pasts, working together to live their lives as best they can. It makes all the difference in the world.

_The family. We [are] a strange little band of characters trudging through life sharing diseases and toothpaste, coveting one another's desserts, hiding shampoo, borrowing money, locking each other out of our rooms, inflicting pain and kissing to heal it in the same instant, loving, laughing, defending, and trying to figure out the common thread that bound us all together. ~Erma Bombeck_

Yeah, we're cheating. This isn't from a dictionary, but we like it anyway, and we think it perfectly sums up the little clan that we've created. If family is about sharing, coveting, hiding, borrowing, defending, and everything else then there is absolutely no question that we are a family. All those things happen occasionally at our "real" homes with our parents, but it in no way compares to the experiences we have together; experiences we wouldn't trade for anything.

What began as a happy accident has grown into something so much more. We may have started as the makers of _iCarly_, but we have become a family, even if that means we have to fudge the definition a little.


	15. Chapter 15: To Make a Long Story Short

"Well if I were your teacher I'd give you an A+."

"Of course you would. You're my brother. You have to like my work."

"No, I have to encourage you because I'm your brother. I like it cuz it's good." Carly smiled at Spencer's kind words.

"Hey Spencer?"

"Yes, Freddie?"

"Why did you drop out of law school?"

"Because it was law school."

"Then why did you go in the first place?"

"It seemed like the responsible thing to do."

"That's it? You studied for and took the LSAT, applied to a bunch of schools, and actually went to the trouble of moving to one, all because it was the responsible thing to do, but yet you couldn't stand it for more than three days?" Freddie's voice wasn't accusatory, just skeptical. It did, however, cause Spencer to pause a moment before answering.

"I was sitting in tortes class one day and instead of paying attention to the professor I was playing with a bunch of rubber bands and pencils and crumpled up paper making some three-dimensional thing. At one point I looked around for something else to add to my sculpture and I realized I was the only one not paying attention. I asked myself 'what the heck are you doing here?' So that night I made a list of the pros and cons of law school. When I realized the 'cons' list was over twice as long as the 'pros' I knew I wasn't where I was supposed to be."

"Do you ever regret quitting? Even a little?" Sam asked.

Spencer looked at each of the three teenagers sitting before him and thought about all the time he spent around them and all the fun he'd had. He also thought about everything they had written in the essay he had just read. About where they had all come from and the family they had created together--a family that wouldn't exist if Spencer had made a different decision three years ago. A lot of people told him dropping out of law school was stupid or irresponsible. It was perhaps the most "stupid" and "irresponsible" decision Spencer had ever made. It was also the only decision Spencer had ever made about which he had no regrets.

"No, I think dropping out of law school was the best thing I ever did."

"Really?" Sam goaded.

"Absolutely!" Spencer replied. "Now, who wants spaghetti tacos?"

"Sure," Freddie agreed.

Sam jumped up from her seat. "Always!"

Carly's only response was a smile as she and her two best friends joined Spencer for yet another family dinner.


End file.
